Beyond the broken veil
by Lil' Monk
Summary: Possibly whimsical musing of one who is more than just an assassin, and it is something that the masses might not want to see of the Sakurazukamori.


**Disclaimer**: X/1999 and Tokyo Babylon belong to CLAMP. I make no monies off this fanfic stuff, and shall return borrowed characters in their perfectly dire conditions. Covers too many genres to mention, and fluff is definitely not one of them.

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Set before volume 16 of X. Razor-sharp musing of one who is more than just an assassin.

**Tattered night**

Time.

Time lies.

Time twists and tames like a patient craftsman, randomly stroking and caressing and pinching and pulling, until the tapestry woven from nerves of pain and pleasure becomes one faceless knot.

Time lulls you into becoming the perfect puppet for possible worship, only to tear you down. That is the only way most people allow themselves to live, without questioning, for they cannot handle true consciousness. It is innate. A lie begets liars. The child shapes his mother. When people are no longer strangers, they only poison each other with false memories. Death is the only absolution.

If only you were as simple as these principles.

You are corrupted. You are the corruptor. You are the reason there are no mirrors, apart from those used in rites. Your essence is a sickness burnt into the waking hours to poison sleep, just like the cigarette smoke inhaled daily. Your white coat flares out so dramatically to mimic the wings of a haunted myth, while you hurl power intended to maim spirit and ruin flesh. You should have become my shadow, for spending day after day after day pursuing my will. Yet you somehow defy these laws to remain… untainted.

I warmed you with my lies, and then burnt you with my truth. I gave you a reason to live, while taking your place to die. In order to do so, I chose to shun a source of deception, of emotional pittance brought about by circumstances. However, ultimate freedom is not within reach, because of my rules… the kiss that a mother bestowed upon her son one night amongst shadows and blood.

Blood. Mud. Water. Wine. Dust. Others constantly strive to point out insignificant discrepancies between these things. In the end, everything will coagulate into an indistinguishable blot, before vanishing. There is no difference between the crumbling of a castle or a country. Redemption is worthless, as is regret. People adore the illusion of a thrilling romance, which makes it puzzling as to why they do not enjoy being knifed through the heart.

This hand has touched them all, and is neither nourished nor nullified.

But the hands of time are empowered, as they strike down each moment without regret. The gears tremble, the stars dim, the wheel turns. That is invincibility, which need not fear death because of their symbiosis. One side despised, the other revered; darkness that has no meaning without light, and vice versa. The earth and sky once met, before separating for the sake of a secret. What I am to you is clear. What you are to me… is forbidden.

I cannot be manipulated, unlike you. Soft enough to merit the sneers of your ancestors, naive enough to still believe that goodness exists in every person regardless of what they have done, and weak enough to lack finishing determination. However, it is this oddly pliant flexibility that becomes the impenetrable defense, ensuring nothing can break you. Which is why the gullible polish of innocence betrays such honesty, an honesty that cripples with its deception because this anomaly cannot exist… but it does. You do.

Your grief is exquisite; eyes gleaming with unshed tears and trampled pride. Wounded by my games, but strengthened by my presence. Our bet, my Sumeragi… denial binds us together in delicious sorrow, and we are wed by vows of damnation. The intriguing depths of your soul easily unfurl, like clothing ripped off skin; the inability to hide a desire confused between past and present while captured in the invitation of parted lips… there are so many things I could do with you. To you. In you.

It always comes back to you. You are selfish, and you don't even know it. You preserve a unique space for every soul; hence nobody is truly precious to you and as a result, you have **no idea** how many animals were sacrificed in your stead.

You. Heartless. Ingrate.

It should have been you, instead of your twin.

Your cocooned fingers deserve to yellow with age for imitating a smoking habit. You are nothing, because there is so much of it surrounding me. At most, entertaining the nonsensical thought of you with any other paints my vision a divine _red_.

Ah- I've burnt the palm again. Would you lose your temper, if you found out about my baiting another creature with the knowledge of Hokuto-chan? The pretty dreamer who safeguards visions for the Angels is an interesting toy: effeminate, unearthly, unchallenging and a bore. Pathetic tears are a welcome sight, as one can almost hear the wish for 'Kamui' to appear, except he won't. After all, we did agree on taking turns to be nice. But that flash of anger when I'm done in his realm, so hot and hateful it might almost be real… I would not be surprised if the dreams are a form of its vengeance.

Yes, dreams. Murderers and monsters can dream. After all, everything once had a mother. Except illusions cannot become flesh, but it does not stop the impossible from trying. Trying to guess what foolish fancies are shielded under dark lashes as your distance is overcome, the delicate underside of flexing wrists bound and gripped until bruises embellish my signature, not to mention biting down on skin laced with fear, until truth is tasted. Then the delight of licking, teasing, holding a revealed secret…

In losing life, nothing can be hidden: The salt of pain and terror, the ebb and flow of unquenched persistence, the burst of fierce defiance that needs to be subjugated, and the pulse of desire that begs for consummation to an end. These are questions that call out to be assuaged, and I am your answer. To drink of your lips adorned with blood and tears, trailing self-loathing while exploring your limits, wanting to further carve our history into your body and trace fate across every slim rib, to knead and push and pull until I can't tell where you end and I begin… **feeling** cannot describe the stretchandpressandclenchofyourhelplessnessonmyYEScloserharderTHEREy-yes.ohyesyesssyessssye-

As the final shred of resistance is lost to wordless pleasure, you are mine.

Shuddery breath warming the throat as hands are tangled beneath the sheets, I've missed the sound of you around me. Or rather, it is imagination that a dream-gazer will not miss, when I release its life by slowly snapping every bone in a failing body.

But occasionally, I am kind. Whenever prey can put up sufficient resistance, such surprises might be worth prolonging. I shall find ways to pass the time with this Kakyou, even as we wait. Of course, I am not greedy. That one is ultimately for 'Kamui' to break, and their game of cat and mouse is so sweet. The earthly dragon tantalizes with a promise he won't fulfill, and the heavenly maiden resigns itself to the role of a frangible doll, in order to survive within the lie of memories. In fact, that guise is so resilient that both are blind to the truth. Truth, which this Kamui refuses to utter: he cannot have substitutes but affairs, and they will perish in the promise of the final battle… save one.

Perhaps I should reserve a special time to converse with this ghostly individual, except the situation has become inconvenient. Quiet sobs are grating, as it weeps in the arms of an inept executioner. But that dies down, to be replaced by a whisper. A considerate whisper that is accompanied by inaudible murmuring, and the following disruption is unmistakable.

If you saw, your pallid cheeks would blush at the urgency; the sacrifice doomed for desecration purifying the despoiler, and the feathers… so many feathers. Hazy, scattered and crushed as violence is spoken between devil and angel, despite all contrary evidence. Pensive melancholia is enveloped by the suffocating splendour of its possessive counterpart, as it is fondled and punished. No matter how powerful we are, we insist on deception. And that is the reason why everything is futile, because we cannot escape the prison of self.

Perhaps it is implacable need for a key of truth that is not absolute, which drives one through this comical torture. Tousled softness cools sweat-stained flesh, as colourless lips are touched by gentleness. Surety of thorough hands bears no mercy, humbling one beyond humiliation in every possible manner. Purposeful desire pushes aside demure plainness to strip away pretence. In this moment, acting is forgotten as limits are violated. It is indescribable. Crude. Tender. Agony. Ecstasy. Each cry, each groan a struggle that has no wish to be free. The ensuing drivel is enough to make one retch when it is remembered but oddly enough, disgust does not exist in that moment. Raw sentiment is mutual, for each little death that is shared.

"Because of Hokuto, I must only hate you."

"And I must kill you, only because of Hokuto."

Then the tides turn, as fate and destiny become intertwined again. One looming over the other, the conqueror concedes to the conquered, as thin fingers rest on broad shoulders. Mouth to mouth, sudden forcefulness results in crimson liquid trickling towards a slender jaw-line. A victor claims his prize, by gently marking the bloodlust of intimacy on the forehead and across unmoving lips. Completion can only be fulfilled through shattering. Flawless parchment is now marred by ugly passion. The weight of the world is welcomed with a moan and a gasp; its yielding dreams ravaged once more to preserve balance.

Not a subtle one when it comes to pranks, this 'Kamui'. Especially when deliberately showing off such ridiculousness is anything but stimulating.

It is hard to believe his passive dream-seer dared to defend with an alternative… vision. It is not worth mentioning, for you must not sleep in the endless rain of sakura petals beneath that tree.

Not that it matters. Unlike your currently obsessive hatred for me, I do not waste time or energy on you. The cryptic taunt of a certain associate has no worth, since he himself is lax and cannot sufficiently blind his heavenly seal. After all, what else could such unceasing fixation be, in light of all that I had strengthened you with? No, it does not matter.

The man who outgrew an idealistic adolescence of awkwardness framed by carelessly stumbling grace does not smile, even when teased. Is it because the murmuring wind among withered leaves purr reminders of the past? You've always believed in fate, while I shape destiny. The results are evident in the enthralling ruins of your isolation, even as I dismiss texture that is smoother than snow and white as the roses that mourn in autumn. And bones as frail as a birch, which radiated a source of warmth that always-

Forsaking the symphony of silence for once, why do I stand in the glare of the sun to contemplate this, on an industrial bridge of corroding metal far above passing cars and their fog of pollution?

No one should pierce the veil that separates solitude from chaos.

I… Subaru-kun, you will never hear- There is no point. Truth always dies.

Follow me, fight me, loathe me, and do not waver in your dedication. For your safety and my sanity, come. Empty your sister's hope and fill your void.

Embrace our future… through me.

**FIN**

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**A/N: **Hm, maybe I should do possible viewpoints of other X characters as well. Or maybe not. Choices, choices... perhaps you can help me decide.


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